


Give and Receive

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Breaking and Entering, Established Relationship, Fuckbuddies, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Kink, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Izaya rarely goes to the effort of breaking into Shizuo’s apartment, which just goes to show how special today is." Shizuo receives a present for his birthday and Izaya finds himself getting more than he expected in return.





	Give and Receive

Izaya rarely goes to the effort of breaking into Shizuo’s apartment. Shizuo doesn’t spend much time there, all things considered, except in the darkest hours of the deep night; and Izaya doesn’t have to chase Shizuo down, as a rule. If he’s looking for some company, or some attention, or just the spark of adrenaline that courses through him at the sound of Shizuo’s voice growling his name into a threat all in itself, all he has to do is wander through the streets of Ikebukuro, pick some sufficiently high point to give him a view to occupy his attention, and wait. Shizuo will find him all on his own, will come tracking whatever aspect of Izaya’s presence it is he senses through the city streets as he works himself into greater frustration with every step, and by the time he finally makes his way to the other he’ll be tight-wound on irritation, and impatience, and the same curling heat that Izaya has been nurturing by holding still instead of trying to chase it down. Izaya will smile, and Shizuo will yell; and then Izaya can lead them back to a dark alley, or an abandoned building, or even the shadows of the night-isolated park, and let Shizuo catch him there. What happens after that is hardly something Izaya can take responsibility for; there’s no controlling Shizuo even at the best of times, and after an hour or more of slow-building frustration Izaya wouldn’t presume to even make the attempt. The fact that he doesn’t  _mind_  the outcome has hardly any bearing on the matter at all; what matters is that Izaya never went looking for Shizuo, never actively sought out his company or his presence, and that is a vital distinction he holds to in his mind above all else.

Which all just goes to show how special today is.

It’s not much of a challenge to get into the apartment once Izaya is there. The complex is far cheaper than his own, lacking any of the locked gates or heavy deadbolts that nonetheless never do much good in keeping Shizuo out; Izaya can appreciate the symmetry of that, that the heavy security measures at his own apartment are rendered as useless by Shizuo’s strength as the everyday locks and window latches of Shizuo’s residence are by his own practiced dexterity. Izaya could pick the front door lock in a matter of minutes, even with the dark of midnight to block his vision from any kind of clarity; that’s assuming Shizuo even bothered to turn the lock over when he arrived home in the first place, a fact of which Izaya is far from sure. But Izaya doesn’t have a particular interest in picking Shizuo’s lock like a stalker, and he’s doesn’t care about venturing through the night-dark space of Shizuo’s life in pursuit of whatever details he might find there. He has a single goal, a single target in mind; so when he approaches the apartment building it’s from the side instead of the front, towards the facade rather than the entrance, and when he ascends the building it’s by means of digging his toes in against the angle of a drainpipe and reaching to catch the edge of a windowledge instead of stepping up the even incline of stairs. Izaya hardly has to think about the climb at all; it comes easy to him, made simple with the lack of any threat chasing him to urge him onward. He can take his time, for once, without feeling the force of Shizuo’s attention reaching to grab and pull him down at the first sign of hesitation, and that gives him the time to steady his grip before pulling himself up, to squint into the dark for the best foothold before he kicks out to grab it with the angle of his shoe. It’s a smooth climb, a bare handful of seconds even going at the easy pace he sets for himself; and then he’s swinging up onto the overhang around the first floor of the building, landing on his toes so the impact will make as little sound as possible before bracing his hands at the edge of the window left open by an inch for the cool of the night air to ruffle through the room within.

Izaya knows it’s Shizuo’s room. He doesn’t need to check to confirm his suspicion; he knows the layout of the apartment complex, has enough of a grasp of basic geometry to know which number corresponds to which outside window even without seeing the front himself. It’s not the room itself he’s checking; it’s the occupant, in the event that the soft scuff and faint thud of his climb might have alerted whatever animal instinct Shizuo carries within him to the approach of a possible threat. But Shizuo hasn’t moved, doesn’t look to have so much as stirred during Izaya’s approach; he certainly looks comfortable enough, sprawled face-down across the whole width of his bed with his sheets kicked down to tangle around the bare length of his legs. His recognizable uniform is gone, of course, set aside and neatly folded in some drawer, Izaya is sure; his thin white t-shirt is as generic as the pattern on the boxers clinging to his thighs. But his hair is still a giveaway, the bleached-yellow pale of it tangling into almost-curls against the weight of the pillow under his head; and there’s the fact that he’s Shizuo, the fact that Izaya thinks he could recognize him anywhere and wearing anything. Izaya watches him for a moment, looking at the unconscious flex of muscle in Shizuo’s upraised arm, at the way his position has left one foot swung wide into the open space alongside the bed; and then he rocks back over the overhang he’s balanced on, and reaches for the edge of the window screen to work it loose. It comes free at once, the latches holding it in place an easy thing to brace and tug free; Izaya sets it next to his feet before turning back to the window itself.

It’s only open by an inch, barely enough to let a breeze through, barely enough to offer a glimpse of the occupant within; but it’s more than enough space for Izaya’s fingers, now that the barrier of the screen is pulled free. He sets his grip and braces himself against the possibility of a screech; but the window opens smoothly, drawing wide along its tracks without any of the rusty drag Izaya was half-expecting. The loudest sound comes as it hits the top of its range, as the weight of it  _thuds_  into place at its greatest height; Shizuo shifts against the bed, frowning in his sleep at the disturbance, but he doesn’t open his eyes, just turns to fling himself onto his back with an arm falling wide over the sheets. He’s almost entirely kicked himself free of his blankets; there’s just a loop of one around his ankle still holding him down, while the rest of his body is left spread out over the give of his bed like he’s making a presentation of himself for Izaya’s consideration. Izaya watches him for long minutes, letting his attention slide over the clinging thin of Shizuo’s shirt on his shoulders, the hem riding up across the other’s stomach, the fit of his boxers against his thighs; and then he lets his hands drop to the edge of the windowframe and pushes up hard against the support to silently swing himself forward and into the room.

It’s darker inside. The moon is rising outside, casting some measure of illumination over the world, and there’s the far-off glow of streetlights; but within the room itself there’s nothing but what minimal glow comes through the now wide-open window. Izaya turns to catch his fingers at the inside sill and pull the glass back down and into place; all the way shut, this time, to cover any obvious explanation of how he made it inside. He takes off his shoes, next, undoing the laces so he can slip first one and then the other foot free of the weight of them and leave them hidden behind the edge of the dresser; then his coat, and his pants, going slow with the zipper so the sound of it coming down doesn’t disturb the weight of Shizuo’s continuing sleep. Shizuo doesn’t stir, doesn’t so much as mumble in the weight of the unconsciousness that has gripped him; by the time Izaya is tugging his shirt up and over his head Shizuo is breathing deep again, clearly returned to whatever sorts of dreams he lingers in through the hours of the night. Izaya wonders, briefly, what it is Shizuo dreams about: does he dream of Ikebukuro, does he dream of his daily life? Does he dream of chases, like the dog Izaya sometimes imagines him to be, does his subconscious offer up the flick of Izaya’s coat and the growl of frustration in his own throat? Maybe he dreams of the conclusions to those same chases, of digging his fingers in against Izaya’s body and lifting the other off his feet to shove him back against the resistance of a wall; or, Izaya thinks, as he stands all but naked in Shizuo’s bedroom and watches the other sleeping, maybe he doesn’t dream of Izaya at all, maybe he slips free of the effect of the other’s presence in his unconscious as Izaya ensures he never does in reality. The idea draws Izaya’s mouth tight and presses something unpleasant and heavy against the inside of his chest; and when he moves it’s at once, pivoting on a bare heel to pad towards the door of the bedroom and the lightswitch there. He’s reaching out without hesitating, without giving himself a chance to even take a breath and calm the pound of his heartbeat; and then his fingers catch the switch, the room bursts alight, and Izaya twists back on his heel at once, tossing his head back and lifting his arms to go along with the reckless flash of his grin. “Good  _morning_ , Shizu-chan!”

Izaya can see the adrenaline of shock jolt through the whole of Shizuo’s body, can see that too-much strength always carried in the tendons and muscles of the other’s form seize hard to shove him up to sitting and blow the air from his lungs in a choking, startled gasp of panic. His eyes come open at once, his gaze scattered and confused by the lingering weight of sleep; and Izaya lets himself laugh, lets some of the tension against his chest spill free and over his lips as he lets his arms fall to his sides instead, as he lets his weight shift over one foot so he can tip his hip to the side. Shizuo blinks hard, his vision still struggling for focus as he lifts a hand to push roughly through his hair, and Izaya takes another breath, and offers more words to assist Shizuo’s struggling comprehension.

“It’s a special day for you, isn’t it, Shizu-chan?” He tips his head to the side and lets the angle of his chin draw his smile sharp and taunting at his lips. “I thought you wouldn’t want to miss a moment of celebration.”

Shizuo’s head lifts, his eyes come into focus from behind the shadow of his arm. Izaya can watch his lips curl on a growl, can see Shizuo’s forehead crease on frustration as immediate as his recognition. “ _You_.”

“I could have waited,” Izaya says, taking a half-step forward so he can swing his weight into a rolling gait forward, so the motion draws Shizuo’s gaze down to what he’s wearing, to the clinging black briefs that are, in fact,  _all_  that he’s wearing. “But I was just so  _excited_.” He lets his lip slide out, lets his expression draw into a pout of put-upon unhappiness. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me it was your birthday, Shizu-chan.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo says. His voice is rough with sleep, gravel and shadow in his throat; Izaya’s spine prickles with heat at the drag of that sound in spite of his best attempts to avoid any giveaway reaction. “What the  _fuck_  are you doing here?”

Izaya lets his put-on position go slack and lifts his head to stare straight at Shizuo as his pout fades. “It’s your birthday,” he says again, speaking slowly, this time, to pull the words into the deliberate slowness that makes a mockery of the statement, as if he thinks Shizuo might be too stupid to understand anything spoken more quickly. “I’m here to celebrate.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Shizuo says; and then, as he lifts his head to finally look up at the closed window, as his expression tightens on confusion, “How did you get  _in_?”

“That’s not important,” Izaya declares with as much lofty self-assurance as he can muster, which proves to be a significant amount. “What matters is what you’re going to do, Shizu-chan.” Shizuo’s head snaps back around, his attention fixing on Izaya with as much intensity as if he’s expecting to see the other fling himself forward into an attack, as if Izaya has anything on him he could possibly use for such. Izaya’s mouth tugs on the temptation of a laugh at Shizuo’s wholly unjustified response; he ducks his head to let his hair fall in front of his face. “What  _are_  you going to do?”

Shizuo is frowning at him, his whole expression pulling taut on lines of frustration. “ _What_?” He shakes his head and pushes a hand through his hair again. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s your birthday,” Izaya says, and takes a breath to go on speaking as he watches Shizuo’s expression cloud with irritation at this unnecessary repetition. “Most people get presents on their birthday.” He lets that drawl slow, too, lets the shape of the words at his lips make them a mockery in their own right; whatever it takes, to keep Shizuo hissing frustration, to keep him distracted enough that he doesn’t skip ahead to the conclusion Izaya is drawing them towards. “And we’ve known each other for years. Even if you  _are_  a monster, it seemed the least I could do.”

“I don’t understand,” Shizuo says bluntly. “You brought me a present?” He looks leery at the prospect; not something Izaya can blame him for, under the circumstances. It’s very nearly flattering, if he’s honest with himself. “What is it?”

“Are you blind?” Izaya asks. “You’re looking right at it.” Shizuo’s frown deepens, his mouth opens to offer some protest; and Izaya lets his shoulders angle back, very slightly, lets his head tip just barely to the side. It’s a minimal action, so tiny he thinks Shizuo wouldn’t even notice the shift of his weight; but it pulls Shizuo’s attention to his bare shoulders, and the expanse of pale skin he’s left on display, and to the flutter of Izaya’s heartbeat in his throat, the motion enough to carry the instinctive weight of surrender even if they both should know better than to believe the display.

“You mean--” Shizuo starts, and then stops himself, closing his mouth to frown over the words as he stares at Izaya.

Izaya’s mouth pulls onto a grin that goes unseen by Shizuo’s wandering attention. He doesn’t try to rein it in. “Here,” he says, and slides his hands down against his hips, pressing to catch his fingertips just under the elastic waistband of his briefs. “I’ll unwrap it for you, even.” And he pushes down against the covering of the fabric, sliding the cloth down his thighs and off his hips while he keeps watching Shizuo’s face, watches the shadows of frustration melt and reform into the weight of heat at the other’s lashes, the part of desire against his lips. Shizuo’s gaze follows Izaya’s hands, sliding down the other’s legs as Izaya strips his clothing down to his ankles and steps delicately free of it. He straightens deliberately, returning to his full height as he watches Shizuo’s attention slide back up his legs and drift to his hips where it stops dead, and Izaya feels his grin pulling wider as he pushes his briefs aside with one foot so he can brace both feet flat on Shizuo’s floor.

“So,” he says, in a tone clear enough to pull Shizuo’s attention back up to his face. Izaya meets the other’s gaze for a split-second, a heartbeat of time before he lets his attention drop deliberately to Shizuo’s boxers and jerks his chin in active acknowledgment of the strain starting to form against the fabric. “Are you going to do anything, or would you prefer to stare like a teenage boy?”

Shizuo makes a low sound, something far in the back of his throat like Izaya has punched him, as if he’s reacting to the sound of the other’s words the way he never would to the weight of a fist. Izaya shifts his weight to one foot, lets his hip tip far out to the side.

“That’s not much of an answer,” he purrs. “ _Do_  you want to just stare?” He shifts his foot behind him, rocking his weight back like he’s retreating for the door. “That’s more than a little boring for me.” He reaches out behind himself, touching his fingers to the handle as he starts to turn, as he twists his head to look back over his shoulder as he heaves a put-upon sigh. “Maybe I’ll go find someone better to do after all.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo spits. “ _Izaya_.” There’s the sound of the bed squeaking, the thud of feet hitting the floor; Izaya glances back through the shadow of his lashes to see Shizuo getting to his feet, straightening from where he was sitting at the edge of his bed with his shoulders hunched forward and his jaw set on intention. There’s a storm behind his eyes, with no trace of the sleepy confusion that was there beforehand; Izaya doesn’t look away from him any more than he lifts his hand from where he’s braced it against the doorhandle.

“Oh, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, drawling the other’s name over his tongue. “Did you need something?”

Shizuo’s mouth catches to tension at the corner. Izaya watches the angle of it pull up and wonders if Shizuo knows he’s smiling, wonders if Shizuo is aware of the drag of the grin breaking over his face.

“Yeah,” he says, and takes a step forward over the span of the room. “My present.”

“Oh?” Izaya raises one eyebrow and tips his head to the side so he can bat his lashes into an imitation of the confusion he doesn’t feel. “Present? Goodness, Shizu-chan, is it your  _birthday_? I’ll have to pick something up.”

“Don’t bother,” Shizuo says, and he lunges forward, crossing the distance yet remaining between them in a pair of long strides that catch Izaya’s breath in his chest in spite of himself, in spite of his deliberate reaching for this exact result. Shizuo’s hand comes out, his palm lands heavy against the door; Izaya feels the weight of it shake in the doorframe and knows without a shadow of a doubt that he won’t be opening it now, if that was ever something he was truly interested in. Shizuo tips his head to look down at Izaya before him, his gaze sliding down the length of the other’s body from shoulder to ankle and back up, slow, like he’s savouring the view. Izaya can feel his blood going hotter in answer, can feel his strength easing as his body tips back against the wall behind him, as his muscles go warm and slack to make an open invitation of himself to the drag of Shizuo’s attention. “I’ve got enough to keep me busy.”

“Good to hear,” Izaya says, with enough snap to the words to pull Shizuo’s gaze back up to his face, to force the dark of those eyes back to him. “Are you going to keep  _me_  busy too, or--” and that’s as far as he gets before Shizuo’s eyes harden, and Shizuo’s jaw sets, and Shizuo reaches out to grab against the angle of Izaya’s chin to pin him still as he ducks in to crush their mouths together. Izaya’s lashes dip, his vision giving way to the surge of satisfaction that hits him at the heat against his mouth, and when he lets the door handle go it’s to reach up instead, to catch and wind his arms around Shizuo’s neck so he can burden the other with the whole weight of his slack body. Shizuo doesn’t even seem to notice; his only concession to it is to let Izaya’s chin go so he can reach for the other’s waist instead, can slide and press his wide-spread fingers against the dip of the other’s back. Izaya purrs against Shizuo’s mouth, lets his back arch in to press close against Shizuo’s chest, and Shizuo makes a low sound of something between frustration and heat and drops his hold at the door to grab for Izaya’s hip instead, to dig in fingers in against the angle of the other’s body and pull Izaya flush against the rising heat of his cock in his boxers. Izaya doesn’t protest this, either the motion or the friction; he arches into it instead, lets his whole body crest up and forward to grind against Shizuo with enough force that Shizuo groans against his mouth, breaking the force of his kiss to gasp at Izaya’s lips.

“I was wondering when you were going to do something,” Izaya tells him, settling his voice into the illusion of calm curiosity while he shifts his hips sideways so he can slide his knee between Shizuo’s thighs and press up and against the heat of the other’s fast-rising arousal. “Maybe I should have gone with my first idea after all.”

“You broke into my  _bedroom_ ,” Shizuo says, growling frustration that loses some aspect of its edge when he’s grinding in against Izaya’s leg and dragging to pull the other closer against him. “While I was  _sleeping_. What the fuck was your  _first_  idea?”

“Sucking your dick to wake you up,” Izaya says at once, grinning at the way Shizuo’s breath rushes out of him and the way the other’s hips buck in hard against his thigh with the surge of heat that follows this suggestion. “But you were so sound asleep I thought you might go on sleeping right through it.” He tips his head back, lets his lashes dip so he can smirk shadows up at the dark of Shizuo’s fixed attention on him. “Maybe I missed an opportunity. You could have woken up to your dick halfway up my ass, Shizu-chan, how would that have been for a birthday surprise?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo says, the word spilling from him like it’s being torn directly from the span of his chest; and his hands are dropping, his fingers are sliding to grab hard against Izaya’s ass and the front of his thigh. His hand shoves Izaya’s leg back from between his own, breaking the friction of the contact Izaya has been angling for, but Izaya doesn’t have time to think about that because Shizuo is lifting him bodily off the floor, pushing to slide the other up and forward while Izaya is still hissing a breath of surprise. His chest presses over Shizuo’s shoulder, his grip on the other’s neck gives way in the first rush of shock; and then Shizuo is turning, twisting back towards the bed with Izaya folded over his shoulder. Izaya hisses and tries to gain traction enough to knee Shizuo’s chest and knock the air out of him; but Shizuo just grabs at his thigh to hold him still as he continues across the room. Izaya’s weight is tipped forward over Shizuo’s back, it would be a perfect opportunity to take an attempt at breaking through the armor of Shizuo’s muscles with the edge of a knife; except Izaya’s stripped down to bare skin, and his knife is still in the pocket of the pants he left atop his carefully-removed shoes. He has nothing to attack with, nothing but the blunt force of hands and feet that Shizuo is so casually ignoring; and he can feel himself going harder in response, can feel his cock throbbing with arousal as it heats against the angle of Shizuo’s collarbone.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, aiming for offhand amusement that goes warmer than he intends with the awareness of his own vulnerability, with the rising sense that Shizuo could take him anywhere, could do anything to him now that Izaya has left himself so unguarded. “Where are you--” and Shizuo lets him go, pulling Izaya down and off the support of his shoulder in a smooth movement that leaves Izaya yelping instinctive panic and scrambling for traction against Shizuo’s shoulder, neck, hair. His fingers catch at skin, his nails score red against the line of Shizuo’s back, but it’s not enough to catch himself, he’s falling backwards, he’s going to--and he lands against something soft, the give of Shizuo’s mattress still warm from the weight of the other’s body, and the breath is knocked out of him with enough force to leave him blinking dazed heat up at the ceiling overhead. It’s only for a moment, only a breath of distraction; but Shizuo moves fast now that he’s awake, and by the time Izaya is catching an inhale to fill his impact-emptied lungs Shizuo is lunging in over him, reaching out to catch at Izaya’s shoulder and casually pin the other to immobility under the spread of his fingers.

“I can’t believe you broke into my  _home_ ,” Shizuo growls, leaning in close so the hiss of the words spills hot over Izaya’s mouth, so the shape of them purrs as warm down the length of the other’s spine as the bracing force of that hand shoving so hard at his shoulder. “What is  _wrong_  with you?”

“As if you don’t do it to me all the time,” Izaya says, trying to not sound breathless and hot and very sure that even if his voice achieves this impossibility the stiff curve of his erection is going to give him away in any case. “You break down my apartment door any time you get a little short-tempered.”

Shizuo hisses. “I’ve never broken your door.”

“And I haven’t yours,” Izaya tells him, lifting his head to nod in the direction of the door. “Go take a look for yourself, if you want.”

Shizuo huffs. “No,” he says. His other hand comes out to drag against Izaya’s waist, his fingers tense to dig in against the other’s hip as his head tips down to follow the suggestion of his touch. “I don’t think I will.”

“Want to make the most of your birthday present?” Izaya says, and shifts his hips against the bed to angle himself to slightly greater prominence, to let his knees fall open with the leading edge of suggestion. “I knew I could count on animal instinct to take the lead.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo says, without as much heat as there usually is on his voice; Izaya wonders if it’s the effect of sleep still lingering to so soften the other’s tone, or if it’s the surprise of his own abrupt appearance that is scattering Shizuo’s typical frustration. There’s still that strength in Shizuo’s hold at his shoulder, though, still that unflinching force bearing down against Izaya’s hip; whatever else Shizuo’s abrupt awakening may have brought about, weakness is no part of it. “That’s what you came here for, isn’t it?”

“I came here to give you a birthday present,” Izaya says. “What you decide you want to do with it is no concern of mine.”

“You stripped  _naked_ ,” Shizuo growls. “What did you  _expect_ me to do?”

“You could have thrown me out,” Izaya purrs. “Who knows if I could let myself back in the second time as easily as the first? If you tossed me out the front door you could have left me to walk home like this.” He tips his head to the side and lets his smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what  _I_  would have done.”

Shizuo hisses. “I’m not you.”

“No,” Izaya agrees. “You picked me up and threw me down on your bed to have your way with me before you ever thought about getting rid of me.” He spreads his legs open wider and ducks his chin to flutter his eyelashes at Shizuo. “Maybe you’ll get to that part later?”

“Shut  _up_ ,” Shizuo snaps, his forehead creasing with something between irritation and concern. “You said I could do whatever I wanted to you.” Izaya just laughs, letting the sound spill up from his throat with all the heat flushing his cock to such resistance against his stomach.

“That’s right,” he says. “Happy birthday, Shizu-chan, I’m making you a present of your most hated enemy.” He lifts a hand from beside him on the mattress and spreads his arm wide to make an offering of the span of his chest, of the inside of his wrist. “You’re not going to throw me out to make a fool of myself. What’s it to be instead?” He lifts his chin fractionally, tips his head to show off the line of his throat as he watches Shizuo’s attention dip to follow pale skin, to cling and weight against the flutter of his heartbeat just under the line of his jaw. “You could finish me off instead. It’s a golden opportunity, you know. I don’t have any weapons on me--” as he flutters his fingers to gesture explicitly towards the proof of this, “--and you clearly have the upper hand. You could get rid of me once and for all and have the best birthday yet.”

There’s a pause, a breath of hesitation while Izaya lets his words hang in the air, lets the silence that follows them answer as clearly as the crease at Shizuo’s forehead, as the tension at his lips. Then Izaya inhales, deliberately filling his chest with the potential for words, and he slides his legs wider on the bed, drawing the motion slow so Shizuo will look down at him.

“Or,” he says, watching Shizuo’s lashes dip, watching Shizuo’s lips part as he looks down at Izaya beneath him. “You could do what you always do.” He draws his foot up against the bed to brace at the sheets. “What I’m counting on you to do.” His leg flexes, his hips tilt up; Shizuo’s focus slides lower, so hot Izaya would swear he can feel the other’s touch sliding between his legs and down towards the tension of his entrance. “Let your instincts take over and waste this chance on simple physical satisfaction.”

“Shut  _up_ ,” Shizuo says, his tone rough and grating; but his eyes are fixed on Izaya’s body, his focus is still clinging to the heat of the other’s skin. “It’s not  _instinct_.”

“No?” Izaya asks. He lifts his hand from the sheets and brings it down to touch against his stomach, to skim over his skin and down to weight his fingertips to the curve of his cock. “What  _is_  it then?” He draws his fingers up, trailing over the heat of his length, and Shizuo’s gaze follows, tracking Izaya’s movement like he’s following a lead.

“Better decide soon,” Izaya says, and he curls his fingers in around his cock, tightening his grip with deliberate care before he strokes up to draw friction out over himself as he moves. “If you haven’t made up your mind before I come you’ll miss your chance.”

Shizuo blinks, his attention comes up to Izaya’s face. “What?”

“I know what  _I_  came here for,” Izaya tells him. “And I’m going to get it, whether it’s from you or not.” He twists his wrist to pull over himself, makes a show of fluttering his lashes and biting his lip with a show of pleasure far above the actual curl of heat starting in the depth of his stomach. “If you’re still dithering I’ll just get myself off and be gone again.” He tightens his fingers over a stroke, tips his head back to groan far in the depths of his throat; when he speaks again he lets heat drip over the words, lets his voice go breathless and a little shaky with the effort. “It won’t--won’t take long, anyway.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo blurts. “ _Stop_ ” and he’s lifting his hand from Izaya’s hip and reaching to grab at the other’s arm and wrench his hold off himself. Izaya grins with the victory of it and lets the put-upon heat in his voice skid into a laugh instead as Shizuo shoves up to pin his wrist hard to the bed over his head.

“You’re not going to stop me that easily,” he says, and reaches down with his other hand for himself. Shizuo is faster about this one -- he catches Izaya’s wrist in a bruising hold almost before Izaya has started moving -- but it’s not really about being stopped, and Izaya’s grin doesn’t flicker even as Shizuo shoves his wrists together over his head so he can hold them both down one-handed.

“What are you going to do, Shizu-chan?” Izaya taunts, arching himself up off the bed as Shizuo leans sideways, holding Izaya still one-handed as he stretches to reach for the bedside table and fumble open a drawer. “Have you made up your mind yet?”

“Stop talking,” Shizuo says without looking away from the drawer. “I don’t want to listen to you.”

“You can’t stop me,” Izaya tells him, purring over the words with intense pleasure. “Unless you want to let my hands free to cover my mouth?” He wiggles his fingers to demonstrate and gets Shizuo’s grip flexing harder on him in response, the other’s fingers tightening so much Izaya can feel the ache run all up his arm even after he laughs and lets his hands go slack. “You’ll just have to listen to anything I want to say, Shizu-chan.”

“Fine,” Shizuo says, straightening from the drawer with a bottle in his hand. “I don’t care.”

“I think you do,” Izaya says; but Shizuo is frowning at the bottle, his forehead creasing as he contemplates the impossibility of slicking his fingers one-handed, and Izaya has better things to tease him about anyway.

“Go ahead,” he says, purring the words into a suggestion so overt it drags Shizuo’s gaze back to his face at the same time it tightens the other’s forehead with frowning distrust. Izaya lets his leg fall wider on the bed, lets his body go slack. “I can’t get myself off  _that_  fast, right?” He tips his head to the side, lets his lashes dip. “You have time to get your fingers wet, probably.”

He’s teasing Shizuo. He’s really not that turned on; for all that his cock is arching hot towards his stomach it’s more the strain of anticipation than the throbbing weight of inevitability in his veins. It would take minutes, at least, to work himself to the precipice of orgasm from where he is now; but Shizuo’s forehead creases, and Shizuo hisses an exhale that speaks to his uncertainty in this far more than the way his fingers tighten on Izaya’s wrists. Izaya feels amusement tight in his throat and parts his lips to let the sound spill warm over his tongue.

“What are you going to do, Shizu-chan?” he asks, arching his hips off the bed in an unsubtle reminder of their position. “You can’t get your dick in me unless you let me go and you can’t be sure I won’t beat you to coming if you do. Are you just going to hold me here all night and leave us both unsatisfied?”

“No,” Shizuo growls, and drops the bottle to the sheets so he can reach for Izaya’s hip instead. “I’ve got a better idea.” And he’s pushing, his fingers tightening on the other’s skin before he lifts up with so much force that Izaya is twisting over before he realizes what’s happening, his whole weight turning to topple forward across the sheets of Shizuo’s mattress while he’s still sucking in a sharp inhale of shock. His arms twist over his head, his wrists drag hard against Shizuo’s hold, and it’s while he’s trying to catch his breath face-down against the pillow below him that Shizuo shifts his hold on Izaya’s wrists, adjusting his grip so he’s not angling the other’s hands back against their natural range of motion. Izaya would be grateful to that -- he doesn’t particularly favor the idea of suffering a dislocated wrist, accidental or otherwise -- but he’s too breathless and startled to manage any kind of voicing of that sentiment, even if he were willing to admit it aloud in any case.

“There,” Shizuo says, and his knees press hard against the bed between Izaya’s as he shifts his weight to settle into place between the open angle of the other’s legs. His skin is flushed warm, still holding to the lingering effects of sleep as much as the tangle of the sheets under Izaya’s body are. “That’s better.” He settles himself, adjusting against the bed without so much as easing his grip on Izaya’s wrists before he leans sideways to reach for the bottle again. “This’ll work.”

Izaya wants to offer some kind of a comeback to that: a laugh, maybe, or a taunt, or maybe an insult, if he can find one amidst the heat spilling through his veins. But he’s breathless from the force of Shizuo’s action, and hotter than he’d like to admit from the sudden, unexpected shift in his position, and for a moment all he can do is breathe against the pillow underneath him and hope that Shizuo doesn’t hear the raw edge of arousal in his throat. It’ll only take a minute, he just needs to catch his breath and then he can go about regaining the upper hand; and then there’s chill against his skin, cool liquid spilling slick over his entrance, and his whole body jerks forward as his throat opens up on a gasp of startled response to the wet Shizuo is pouring against him. Shizuo huffs a sound behind him, something alarmingly close to amusement at his lips; and then the bottle drops to the bed, and the cool of the liquid is met with the heat of Shizuo’s fingers, and Izaya has to close his mouth hard on the threat of a whimper in his chest as Shizuo slides his fingers in and over Izaya’s wet-slick skin.

“I think I can satisfy you like this,” he says, purring over the words like he’s pleased with his own insight, like he’s charmed by his own inventiveness. His fingertips press against Izaya’s body, his touch dragging up and over the cleft of the other’s ass to rub at Izaya’s entrance without quite pushing inside; Izaya shudders at the bed, his whole body trembling in helpless response to the friction of Shizuo’s touch against anticipation-sensitive nerve endings. “What do you think, Izaya-kun?”

Izaya licks his lips and turns his head against the pillow, tossing his head to shake his hair back from his face so he can look sideways through his lashes at Shizuo behind him. “I think--” he starts; and then Shizuo’s fingers slide, and Shizuo’s touch dips against the give of his entrance, and his words die at his lips as his whole body goes tense at once. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, sounding low and distracted, like he’s barely listening to Izaya at all. “Like that.” He pushes in harder, two fingers coupled together to stretch Izaya wide without hesitation; Izaya can feel the strain of it, can feel the force pushing into him with the unhesitating strength that Shizuo wields with so much careless grace. It urges his body to yield, urges the shape of a groan from the back of his throat, and behind him Shizuo makes a low noise and pushes in deeper, thrusting his fingers far into Izaya’s body as Izaya’s cock twitches against the sheets beneath him with answering heat. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Fuck,” Izaya says, because he wants to say  _fuck you_  but he can’t finish the sentence, because the harsh edges of that first word tear to heat in his chest before he can rein them back. “Shizu--” and Shizuo’s fingers drive hard into him, dragging with so much force that Izaya’s vision flickers to white, that Izaya’s breath sticks on the shudder of tension that ripples through him. “ _Ah_.”

“You do,” Shizuo says, without any hesitation on the statement at all, and he’s moving harder, falling into a rhythm that makes Izaya’s body tighten around him in reflexive tremors, that pulls Izaya’s breathing free of him at a rate guided by Shizuo’s touch more than his own volition. “I can feel it, you  _love_  this.”

Izaya licks his lips and tries to call up some measure of teasing from his voice even as his body rises to heat under Shizuo’s touch, even as his blood comes alight to Shizuo’s urging. “I do,” he says, because that’s a futile denial to attempt when he’s shuddering tension around Shizuo’s fingers with every straining thrust the other takes forward and into him. Izaya can feel himself opening to Shizuo’s touch, can feel the instinctive tension of his body giving way to the insistence of the other’s fingers as Shizuo stretches him open with rough haste to ease natural strain into relaxation. “I do like it.” He arches his shoulders forward, pulling against Shizuo’s hold without any particular intent of breaking free; this is an attempt at movement instead of freedom, a pull to brace himself against the other’s hold so he can rock himself backwards, so he can slide himself farther onto Shizuo’s fingers, can take the other’s touch deeper into his body. Shizuo’s fingers twist within him, spiking heat low in his stomach, and Izaya doesn’t have to act to gasp a broken inhale, to let the desire curling through him slide out of his throat into a moan that he can feel resonate through the whole of his chest. “I bet I can come without ever touching myself if you keep going like this.”

Shizuo’s laugh is low and hot enough that Izaya doesn’t even care that it’s at his expense. “I bet you can,” he purrs, and Izaya shudders just at the sound of those words, the heat in him too immediately responsive for him to pretend to anything else. “You’re not coming before I do, though.”

“No?” Izaya says. “How exactly are you going to stop me, Shizu-chan?” He pulls at Shizuo’s hold on him again; the force aches in his shoulders, he can feel the strain of it all down his shoulders and into his back, but it flexes his body tighter around that friction inside him too, and that’s enough to draw another unfeigned moan free of his throat to spill into the pillow beneath his lips. “Unless you’re planning to jerk yourself off instead of fucking me, and you hardly need me here for that anyway.”

“Nah,” Shizuo says, still in that dark tone that radiates danger through Izaya’s thoughts, that strains arousal down the length of his spine. “You’re my present, aren’t you?” He strokes deep with his fingers, sinking the whole length of them into Izaya at one go, and he flexes them as he draws back, pressing his fingers hard against Izaya’s inner walls to drag friction in his wake as he slides back and out. Izaya can feel his shoulders draw together, can hear himself whimper helpless heat as Shizuo’s fingers pull inside him before sliding free to leave him tensing around nothing at all. “I’ll enjoy your gift, don’t worry.”

Izaya swallows hard in an effort to fight back the tension in his throat that is mostly unsuccessful. “Who’s worried?” he attempts. Behind him there’s a rustle of fabric, the feel of the bed shifting under Shizuo’s weight; Izaya can’t see enough through the fall of his hair to tell what the other is trying to do but he can guess, can come close enough to the truth that he can feel it tighten in his balls without even being touched at all. The head of his cock is wet against Shizuo’s sheets. “Either you let me go and I get myself off or you keep me down like this and I come as soon as you start fucking me. I’m a winner either way, Shizu-chan, you should just give up now.”

“Not yet,” Shizuo says, the words heavy enough that Izaya doesn’t think he’s talking about giving up at all, can’t even be sure Shizuo is listening to his words. The idea that he might be being ignored grits his teeth and hisses past his set jaw as he contemplates breaking free, tries to figure out if he can twist himself loose of Shizuo’s hold if he calculates his angle just right; but then Shizuo’s hips come forward, and Shizuo’s cock slides over Izaya’s skin, and Izaya loses track of everything else but that single point of friction.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts, desperation pulling his voice to strain in his throat, and he’s pulling at Shizuo’s grip on him again, all the strength of his arms flexing to pull him closer, to bring the hard-flushed heat of the other’s length dipping inside him to stretch him wide, to push him open and fill all that space Shizuo’s fingers found within him. “Shizu-chan,  _yes_.”

Shizuo doesn’t answer with words. He just huffs an exhale, the air in his lungs spilling hot into the space between them; and then his hips come forward, his cock braced in his free hand pushing hard against the tension of Izaya’s entrance. Izaya can feel the heat of it, can feel the rounded slick of the head urge him open to the width of Shizuo’s fingers, to the strain already received and welcomed; and wider, more, the whole swollen heat of Shizuo’s arousal straining at his entrance, pushing him wide even as Izaya’s breathing catches high on the leading edge of instinctive panic as he feels himself coming open for the demand of Shizuo against him. It’s too much strain, it’s pulling him wider than two fingers, wider than three, taking everything he has in him to offer; and Shizuo is sliding forward in spite of the pressure, in spite of everything, the thick heat of his cock pushing forward and into Izaya’s body as it makes space for itself by insistence more than persuasion. Izaya’s panting, hiccuping for breath as his legs tremble, as his shoulders flex, as the whole of his body seizes in reflexive waves around Shizuo’s length; and Shizuo keeps going, his fingers clenching to bruises on Izaya’s wrists and his other hand dropping down to clutch at the other’s hip and pull Izaya back, to bring Izaya towards him as fast as he is leaning in towards the other. Izaya can feel Shizuo inside him, can feel the strain sliding up into him like it’s taking up all the space in his body, like Shizuo is taking him over; and he can feel his orgasm building at the base of his cock, can feel it tightening his balls in close to his shaft and flexing his thighs on short, helpless convulsions. His mouth is open, his fingers are clenching, he’s going to come with Shizuo’s first thrust into him and he doesn’t care, he can’t think, he can just feel the heat rising up his spine and twitching his cock at his stomach and building like a wave cresting on the horizon, the inevitability forming itself in every part of him until his head tips back, until his mouth comes open and he--

The pressure at his cock is startling, the touch so abrupt Izaya chokes on the air missing in his lungs, his throat seizing around a yelp of surprise that he lacks the breath to give voice to. There are fingers closing tight around him, friction pressing to hot-swollen skin, and it would only pull his orgasm the hotter except the grip is too tight, it’s a cage instead of a caress, the beginnings of pain instead of encouragement to pleasure. It doesn’t matter, Izaya thinks, he’s too far gone, he thinks Shizuo could punch him and he’d still jolt into orgasm at the contact; but the heat rushes down his spine, flooding into his hips and pulling up hard at his balls, and when it runs into that pressure it stops dead, broken off as sharply as if it’s been cut with a knife. Izaya jerks, gasping some sound between a whimper and a groan at the pressure of abortive pleasure, and over him Shizuo huffs a breath that sounds alarmingly like a laugh.

“Not yet,” he says again, his voice purring over the distinctly amused range of that phrase; and he pulls back, his cock sliding inside the give of Izaya’s body before he thrusts forward again to sink himself into the other in one solid stroke. Izaya jolts, his whole body tensing helplessly to the action; but the sensation stalls at that press of Shizuo’s fingers against him, his orgasm cut off before it can break free of him and grant him the relief of that pent-up pleasure.

“I told you,” Shizuo says; and he’s moving again, he’s falling into a rhythm with his hips that spills heat through Izaya’s body with every motion, that builds the pressure along his spine higher with every smooth drive of Shizuo’s cock working inside him. “You’re not going to come yet.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Izaya says; or moans, more accurately, the words forced from him on the push of Shizuo’s cock into him. “Fuck  _you_ , Shizu-chan” as he wrenches hard at Shizuo’s hold, pulling with enough force that Shizuo lets his grip on the other’s arms gives way and Izaya can get a hand under himself to push up and off the bed, to brace himself steady while he reaches to fumble against the unflinching pressure of the other’s hold. “Let me go, you  _asshole_.”

“No,” Shizuo says. His hand isn’t moving any more than the steady motion of his hips is faltering. “It’s my birthday, I want to come first for once.”

“ _Fuck_  you,” Izaya pants. His fingers are desperate at Shizuo’s wrist, his hold straining to push the other’s grip aside; Shizuo is moving no more than a brick wall would, his hold utterly unhesitating as he holds back the pressure of Izaya’s denied orgasm. “Just let me--” and Shizuo’s cock slides in against him, grinding pressure over his prostate until Izaya’s eyes roll back, until his throat opens up on a moan of desire that breaks off into the shape of a sob as the flood of sensation crashes and breaks against Shizuo’s grip. “ _Damn_  you.”

“Just wait,” Shizuo says. He’s leaning in closer, his weight tipping in over Izaya’s shoulders like he’s trying to pin the other down to the bed, as if he’s going to hold him down by the weight of his body as easily as he’s tying back the force of that orgasm still straining against Izaya’s spine. “I’ll let you come eventually.”

“Come  _on_ ,” Izaya gasps. “Come on Shizu-chan, don’t you want to feel me coming around your cock?”

“I do,” Shizuo says. His mouth is hot against the back of Izaya’s neck; his breathing is coming faster, falling into pace with the force of his thrusts. Izaya would appreciate that more if he didn’t feel so much like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. “I can feel you right now” as he rocks his hips forward, as his cock slides slick into Izaya. Izaya can feel the press of it down in the depths of his stomach, can feel the strain drag and pull inside him as his body opens helplessly to the heat of Shizuo’s movement. “You’re clenching around me every time I move, it’s like you’ve been coming the whole time I’ve been inside you.” His exhale ruffles the hair against the back of Izaya’s neck; Izaya can feel the heat run down the length of his spine. “You feel  _incredible_.”

“Fu--” Izaya starts, trying for an expletive that goes sideways into another shuddering moan as Shizuo thrusts into him, as his body wrenches tight on another surge of heat that shatters itself apart on the hold of Shizuo’s hand. “ _Shizuo_.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, purring over the word like he’s speaking more for his own benefit than for Izaya’s. “You sound good like this too.” His head ducks down, his forehead weights hard against Izaya’s shoulderblades; and he starts to move faster, falling into a rough rhythm that Izaya can feel moving within him as his body opens helplessly to the force of Shizuo’s cock in him, as his blood goes hot and electric with arousal that can’t break itself to satisfaction, that stalls at the edge of anticipation with every dragging thrust of Shizuo fucking in against him. Izaya’s cock feels heavier than it ever has before, hot and swollen to the edge of pain with the arousal Shizuo is drawing out into him; but Shizuo’s grip is unflinching, Shizuo’s fingers are bracing back the full force of Izaya’s still-building orgasm until Izaya wonders dizzily if he’ll ever come again, if he’ll be trapped like this forever, hovering on the cusp of satisfaction and deprived of relief by Shizuo’s off-hand strength. His legs jerk against the bed, his shoulders flex with another jolt of heat; but he’s sobbing through a breath before the surge even stalls out, this time, helpless to the ache of frustration forming in him with every forward drive of Shizuo’s hips.

“God,” Shizuo pants against the strain of Izaya’s shoulders, his breathing coming hot against the other’s skin; but Izaya is hotter still, Izaya feels as radiant as the sun, as if the sensation building endlessly in him is going to burst free in a surge of light from every inch of his trembling body. “Izaya, you feel…” and his hips come forward, his cock slides so deep Izaya loses his breath with the force, air spilling from his lips into a full-throated moan from the very depths of his diaphragm. Shizuo groans behind him, voicing heat to match and echo Izaya’s, and his hips stutter forward, jolting through a motion out-of-sync with his established rhythm as he drives in deep to sheathe himself in the grip of Izaya’s body. “ _God_.”

“Let me,” Izaya gasps at the sheets, “Shizuo,  _please_ ” and he knows he’s pleading and he doesn’t care, he can’t think about anything but the heat building in him, about the want fluttering in his chest and aching in his cock and pooling in his stomach until he feels like he’s going to come apart with it, like the tension is going to crush him right out of consciousness. He fumbles down against the sheets, reaching to clutch hard at Shizuo’s wrist in a desperate and absolutely futile attempt to urge the other’s hold off him. “ _Please_.”

“Me first,” Shizuo says, the words dragging rough friction over Izaya’s shoulders. “That’s what I want, Izaya, I want to come first.”

“You could have anything,” Izaya tries, struggling for coherency as he tugs uselessly at Shizuo’s wrist in an attempt to wrench the other’s hold free, to buy himself a minute, a second of relief from that pressure holding his orgasm back. “You could make me come until I couldn’t remember my name, Shizu-chan, you could have me screaming while you fucked me open.” His hands are starting to shake, his fingers are trembling; he tightens his hold at Shizuo’s wrist and gasps an inhale to attempt more persuasion. “You could keep going until I passed out, until I...until I begged you to stop.”

Shizuo huffs a breath at Izaya’s shoulderblades. “You’re begging now,” he says, flat fact instead of the purring mockery Izaya almost wishes it was; and then he pushes up, pulling himself away from Izaya’s back as he straightens. Izaya groans as Shizuo moves inside him, as the length of the other’s cock draws back and free from his body; and then heat turns into a gasp, arousal turning to desperation as Shizuo slides free of him entirely, as the thick of the other’s cockhead pushes Izaya wide for a moment before slipping free. Izaya’s fingers tighten at Shizuo’s wrist, his grip going bruise-tight with panic instead of demand as he twists his neck hard to look back over his shoulder, as he tries to hold onto contact with the other knowing full well that Shizuo can shake him off as easily as he might tear through binding ropes.

“No,” Izaya says, his voice riding the edge of panic instead of persuasion at this sudden and unexpected loss. “Don’t stop,  _don’t_  stop,  _please_ ” as his whole body strains around the unpleasant absence inside him, around the space laid open for Shizuo’s use and left barren by the other’s withdrawal. “ _Shizuo_ , come--” and Shizuo’s hand closes on Izaya’s shoulder, his hold tightens to bracing certainty, and Izaya loses all his breath as Shizuo pulls him over to land hard on his back against the mattress. The impact knocks the air from his lungs and leaves him blinking startled heat up at the ceiling, and it’s while he’s still lying slack and dazed that Shizuo’s hands come in against his knees to urge his thighs to spread, to draw his legs open against the sheets beneath them.

“There,” Shizuo sighs, sounding self-satisfied more than reassuring; and it’s only then that he reaches out again to replace his grip on Izaya’s cock, to tighten the stranglehold on the other’s orgasm he’s been maintaining. Izaya hisses at the pressure, at the removal of an opportunity he had been too dazed to take advantage of; but then Shizuo is pulling at the inside of his knee, and lifting his hips sideways and half-off the bed, and Izaya is being dragged forward in spite of himself, his whole body drawing forward and up by inches as Shizuo braces him in place. Izaya reaches out for Shizuo’s wrist, clutching instinctively for support, this time, instead of to urge the other off him; and Shizuo’s cock slides against him, the head pressing back against his entrance to demand surrender even after Shizuo’s so-recent retreat. Shizuo’s thighs flex, his body tips forward against Izaya’s half-suspended to motionless by Shizuo’s casual hold on him; and his cock slides forward, the whole length of it sinking deep into Izaya on a single thrust. Izaya’s can’t move, can’t even brace himself; all he can do is shudder through a long spasm of heat, his head tipping back and his eyes rolling up at the feel of another not-quite orgasm rippling through his body as Shizuo fills him again.

Shizuo groans, the sound hot and low and resonating in time with the whole length of Izaya’s spine, like the note at Shizuo’s lips is heating his whole body fever-hot in answer. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, and he moves again, drawing back and thrusting forward so sharply Izaya’s back arches, his body spasming involuntarily against the pressure, against the friction that is too much, that isn’t enough, that’s forcing him closer to the edge he can’t manage to topple over while Shizuo’s grip is fisted so tight around him. He can feel the pull inside him, can feel the weight of Shizuo working against the tension of his body as he shudders around the force, as he gasps a breath that tastes like fire at his lips; and he can hear Shizuo’s sharp inhale, can hear the resonance of arousal in the other’s throat as his hold at Izaya’s knee loosens to drop the other back to the sheets.

“ _God_ ,” he groans; and his hand is touching Izaya’s stomach, his fingers spreading out to splay across the sweat-heat of the other’s skin. “I can see--” and he moves again, and Izaya can feel the pressure strain against his skin, can feel the force of Shizuo’s cock dragging up and against the weight of the other’s touch against him. Izaya gasps an inhale, struggling for breath as his thoughts go dizzy, as his skin burns with desperate heat; and then he lifts his chin, and blinks hard, and fixes his gaze on Shizuo over him. Shizuo is staring down at his hand on Izaya’s stomach, his eyes half-lidded and his lips parted; he looks entranced, like he’s entirely caught up in the rhythm of watching himself moving inside the other, of seeing the shift of his thrusts as well as feeling them. Izaya watches him for a moment, feeling his heart rattling on heat, feeling his skin prickling with waves of too-much arousal; and then he shifts his weight, letting his knees spread as wide as they’ll go, letting his whole body go slack against the sticking heat of the sheets beneath him, and he draws in a deliberate breath, tightening the flat of his stomach to hollow out the tension of it close and clinging. His ribcage rises, the lines of his hipbones come into sharp relief; and at his abdomen the outline of Shizuo’s cock draws into clarity, the pressure of the other inside him lifting to thrust in against the weight of the hand pressing against him. Shizuo groans, hotter and lower than Izaya has ever heard him before; and he’s pulling his hand away, reaching to clutch at the sharp indent of Izaya’s hip instead as he draws back, as the shape of his cock slides away before thrusting back up and into Izaya before him. Izaya’s heart is racing, his legs are starting to tremble; but he keeps breathing shallowly, keeps the fluttering tension of his stomach drawn in as tight as he can get it so Shizuo can watch the motion of his cock moving into the other’s body. Izaya can see the shift of Shizuo’s throat, can see the flutter of his lashes; and he can see the rhythm Shizuo is setting, can tip his head down and see the push of Shizuo fucking into him under the dark-flushed ache of his own arousal pinned back by the grip of Shizuo’s fingers on him.

“Fuck,” Shizuo says, giving voice to the word with breathless heat under it. “You look--” and he breaks to incoherency, cutting himself off with growling heat as he thrusts forward hard against Izaya’s body. Izaya’s legs are shaking helplessly now, the whole length of them trembling with the heat in him, with the need for relief building against his spine; but he’s not watching the brace of Shizuo’s white-knuckled grip on his cock, isn’t waiting for whenever Shizuo decides it will be worthwhile to let him go. His gaze is cast down too, his vision clinging to the flutter under the taut of his stomach, to the rhythm of Shizuo’s cock pumping into him, and he’s dizzy and aching and he thinks if Shizuo keeps going he might come in spite of those fingers, that the force of his arousal might be enough to overcome even Shizuo’s fabled strength. His breathing is catching, his hands are trembling; and then Shizuo chokes over a breath, and ducks his head, and when he lets his grip go it’s to clutch at Izaya’s hip instead, to pin the other’s body steady between his hands. His thumbs dig in deep against the dip just over Izaya’s hips, his fingers brace at the angle of the other’s pelvis; and Izaya’s breathing stalls, his whole body draws tight as the held-back tension in him starts to gather itself once more. He’s watching Shizuo moving harder into him, feeling the friction of the other’s movement pulling at his entrance and straining against his inner walls; those hands are bracing him to stillness, lifting him up and off the bed even as the pace of Shizuo’s breathing catches, as the rhythm of his inhales falls out-of-time with the drive of his hips. Izaya’s thighs are flexing, his fingers are seizing, his vision is hazing out of clarity; and then Shizuo’s hands drag Izaya closer, his hips snap forward to thrust deep into the other, and Izaya would swear he can feel the rush of heat within him as Shizuo’s cock pulses with the long, rippling waves of orgasm. Shizuo is breathless, is panting tiny, broken-off inhales as he ducks in over Izaya, as his shoulders curl in to shadow the other’s body; and Izaya’s back arches, his toes curl, the whole of his body pulls taut as that long-restrained pleasure crests to shatter over and through him. His chest tightens, his mouth comes open; and then his cock twitches, heat splashes out across his skin, and Izaya convulses with the force of the pleasure that hits him, that rushes through the whole of his body as he comes over the outline of Shizuo’s cock buried inside him. The sensation surges through him, from the tips of his curling toes to the white sweeping over to eclipse his vision; he doesn’t hear the sound of his voice dragging over the breathless give of Shizuo’s name, doesn’t feel the grip of Shizuo’s hands tightening to brace him still against the jolting waves of heat that are shuddering through his limbs. He’s not talking, not thinking, not breathing; he’s just feeling, just heat, just a conduit for the relief unravelling every part of his existence into boneless, shimmering satisfaction.

Izaya’s gone slack over the sheets by the time he can collect himself enough to notice his surroundings. His cock is still half-hard, still holding to the tension of that orgasm that stripped him to such a live wire of heat; there’s come all across his stomach and halfway up his chest, spilled there at some point in that endless wave of heat that so swamped him. His legs are spread out over the bed, his thighs shaking with tiny tremors as helpless as the dip of his lashes hazing his vision to shadow; even his hands are relaxed, turned face-up on the sheets alongside him like he’s offering the delicate inside of his wrists for Shizuo’s taking. Shizuo is still leaning over him, still gripping at Izaya’s hips with both his hands digging to the shape of bruises; his head is ducked down, his breathing dragging hard in his throat as he works to collect the pattern of his inhales back under his control. Izaya can feel the pressure of Shizuo’s cock inside him, the strain of it lessening as the other’s arousal softens but still a weight, a fullness he could trace with his fingers, if he had the strength to lift his hand and press his palm down against the spill of his come drying to sticky over his stomach. He doesn’t -- he can feel the effort of every breath he takes, the possibility of actually lifting his arm is well beyond him -- so he lies still instead, letting the soft of Shizuo’s bed support his weight and feeling his whole body ache with aftershocks as Shizuo sighs a shaky exhale and rocks back over his knees. There’s a pull inside him, a tug of pressure as Shizuo’s cockhead shifts with the other’s motion; and then Shizuo is pulling back, and Izaya’s lungs are emptying themselves, his breath spilling into a moan at the feel of Shizuo sliding back and free of his body. It’s a relief and a loss at once, as Izaya tightens involuntarily around the space Shizuo leaves within him; and then Shizuo is pulling out of him with a huff of an exhale, and Izaya gasps a breath and feels the ease of the motion with the absence of that too-much pressure inside him.

“Sorry,” Shizuo says, the apology absent and unthinking; it speaks to his own distraction, Izaya thinks hazily, that he’s offering it at all, when usually he’d be more likely to growl satisfaction at causing the other discomfort. Izaya tips his head down and brings his drifting attention to land at Shizuo’s face; and Shizuo looks up, and his gaze meets Izaya’s without flinching, the dark of his eyes fixing to meet the other’s with no trace of the usual tension of frustration at the corners of his eyes. He just looks tired, flushed and sated and sleepy; and Izaya stares up at him, gazing at that expression that he’s never seen on Shizuo’s face before, and he wonders vaguely what kind of expression he’s wearing, between his heavy eyelids and his sweat-damp hair and his parted lips. Shizuo stares at him for a moment, his attention sliding over Izaya’s face with slow, thorough focus; Izaya wishes he could turn away, wishes he could muster a smirk to hide behind, but he lacks the strength for any of it, lacks the ability to do anything at all except lie still under Shizuo’s gaze and tremble with the aftershocks of the orgasm the other worked from him. Shizuo’s lashes dip, his gaze comes back up; and then he reaches out to brace a hand at the sheets, and leans in close, and his mouth is on Izaya’s before Izaya realizes he’s ducking in, before he can even shut his eyes in expectation of the friction. Izaya’s eyes widen, his breath sticks; and Shizuo lingers at his lips, pulling the gentle warmth long without deepening it into the fight that kissing so often becomes, with them. He just kisses Izaya, his mouth soft and his breathing gentle; and when he pulls away it’s by barely an inch, just enough to duck his head in against the other’s cheek so his lips all but skim Izaya’s ear.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, so soft Izaya can barely hear him, can barely be sure he’s heard the words. His hand touches at Izaya’s waist, his fingers slide in under the curve of the other’s back. “It’s a good present.”

Izaya blinks up at the ceiling of Shizuo’s bedroom, feeling the whole of his body weighting heavy with satisfaction against the sheets beneath him, wondering how long it will take before he has the strength to move again; and then Shizuo’s mouth touches his shoulder, Shizuo’s lips seek out the dip of his throat, and his head is falling to the side, his lips are parting on a groan that he intends to be protest and that spills into the warmth of returning heat in spite of himself. Shizuo’s hand at his back pulls up, lifting him off the mattress to press Izaya’s body in close against the heat of his own; and Izaya’s hands come up of their own accord, overcoming the pull of gravity in pursuit of more pressing concerns. His fingers fit into Shizuo’s hair, his palm slides in and against the other’s shoulders, and Izaya shuts his eyes, and shudders an exhale, and lets Shizuo go on kissing heat back into his veins.

He’s already gotten what he came here for, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to stop Shizuo from exceeding his expectations yet again.


End file.
